Beauty in Beastly Times
by Jayie The Hufflepuff
Summary: Follow the story of Lea, mother of Belle, as she struggles with poverty, sexists, hatred, and the dark alleys of Paris.
1. Prologue

My name is Lea. At some point in my life, I stumbled across the fact that Lea means "weary." I don't think that is accurate, at least not in my case. I have no time in my life to be weary. I work past any strain or discomfort simply because I cannot afford it. If you stop walking for a moment in this world, you'll get trampled by the crowd. That's not me. Not ever.

I was born in 1623, in the middle of a harsh winter. That was four years before the start of another Anglo-French war. The Protestant huguenots along with their English allies had risen up against our Catholic King. I don't remember it much because I was so young, but the faint memories I have of that time are tainted by fear. Our people were dying over the foolishness of religion.

I myself have never seen much use for the ceremonial nonsense most churches present. I doubt that God cares much for such things. If He can see into our hearts, why must we prove our faith to Him at every turn, and devote our loyalties to priests who care more for the shine of gold than the purity of their souls? I have worked hard all my life, and have avoided sin as best as I can. If He takes offense simply because I skipped mass or spoke my mind to a greedy priest, then I have no wish for His favor.

My father fought for the King in that war. I don't remember him very well, but there is one memory that is very clear, even to this day. It was the day my father left to join the army. I was only four at the time. He kneeled down in front of me and made me look him straight in the eyes. He had dark eyes like me, I remember, and a deep, confident voice. "Now listen here little Lea," He told me, "You're a good little Catholic girl. You and your mother are gonna go to mass while I'm away, and one day you're gonna find yourself a good husband. I need you to always remember to be a good little girl. Don't buy into any of that Protestant nonsense. And... remember your old father. He might not be coming back."

He tousled my hair affectionately, then left our home to become of the King's soldiers. It was to be the last time I ever saw him, for he died in that war. Lucky for him, or else he would have had to live with a head-strong daughter who didn't go to church if she could help it. But I don't blame him for his snobbery. He was my father after all, and dead before I could really know him. Let the dead have their peace.

My mother wasn't so lucky. As I grew older, I became more obstinate and opposed to the snobbery of the upper classes. My mother, on the other hand, embraced the morals of the rich and powerful with frightening ease. Her love of wealth allowed her to turn a blind eye to suffering. I spent many an hour locked away in my room for my impertinence. Over the years, I met many people whom I would argue with, some even who would wish me dead.

But all that will come in time. Listen now to my story. The story of Lea.

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><p>This is the story of Lea, mother of Belle in Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I love this character, she's so different from her dreamy daughter, but they're both so strong. More will come.<p>

In regards to the timeline, I'll try to keep it fairly accurate to the timeline of the real world, but of course the anachronisms in Beauty and the Beast require a few changes ton that timeline. For example, this isn't the real king of France at the time, but rather the Beast's father.

Beauty and the Beast (c) Disney

Lea (c) Me 


	2. Strong

Our house was extravagant, practically oozing the word "expensive." The floors of wood were polished until they shone and the walls were decorated lavishly. All of our furniture matched, and not a speck of dust could be seen.

I wasn't one for snobbery, but I admit that I enjoyed our comfortable life. What person wouldn't? We had a wonderful home, good food to eat, and were safely tucked away from the dangers of the streets of Paris. We had everything. Except Father.

I think it was the absence of my father that taught me that you have to be careful in this world. If you weren't home after dark, or if you went down the wrong alleyway, you could be gone just like Father. It was my first lesson in survival, and I learned it quickly. If you're not careful, you could disappear.

After Father died, my mother's older brother, my Uncle Paul, moved in. I didn't like Uncle Paul; he was stiff and formal, with emotionless blue eyes and a voice that made him sound like someone was pinching his nose. He was heavily built and grew easily out of breath. I avoided him whenever possible.

It was a few days after I turned five when it happened. Mother had been walking around for many months with a steadily growing bulge on her stomach. I hadn't yet grasped the concept of pregnancy, but Mother had told me that I was going to have a new brother or sister.

I was playing with my dolls in my room when I heard a cry of pain. I was so young that I was more curious than anything. I set my dolls down carefully and opened the door of my room. I wandered into the kitchen, which is where I found Mother doubled over in pain, kneeling on the floor with one hand on her bulging stomach.

I was shocked by the pain in her eyes. I'd never seen my strict mother look so weak. I hesitated before approaching her. "Mama...?"

Uncle Paul came slowly into the room, ignoring me entirely as he came to my mother's side. I could see the uncertainty and faint disgust in his eyes. It couldn't be more clear that he wanted nothing to do with whatever was happening to Mother.

He turned to look at me. "Look here little brat." He said sharply. "Go out and find the doctor. Be quick about it!" He shot me a glare that offered no argument.

I hesitated for a moment, but the look my uncle was shooting me sent me scurrying away and out the front door. Once outside I paused uncertainly. I knew how to get to the doctor's place, but it was a long way's off, and it wasn't safe for a child to be wandering alone.

As I was pondering what to do next, I spotted a woman who looked a lot like Mother. I remembered my mother doubled over in pain and felt a rush of determination. As I looked at this woman an idea came to me. I hurried along after the woman, staying just behind her. She looked down at me in surprise, but when I didn't say anything she looked back.

I followed her for a few blocks, but then she turned off onto a different alley. I picked someone else to follow, a woman who looked as tall as Mother. I didn't have a full plan in my head – what five-year-old would? - but I did realize that I was safer with someone than without. Father hadn't been with us when he'd died, so presumably he'd been alone. If I was alone, I wasn't safe.

I followed people all the way to the midwife's home. I knocked nervously on the door. The woman came to the door, her plump face smiling down at me. I looked up at her, relaxing as I saw the warmth in her eyes. I managed to say, "Something's wrong with Mama."

She seemed to understand immediately. The kind woman led me back home. As we walked, I thought about what I'd done. I'd walked safely through the streets of Paris alone. I was strong enough to come back, like Father hadn't. I was strong. The revelation was a wonderful feeling for a lonely little girl. I was _strong_.

When we got back home, the midwife sent me off to my room. It was several hours before they let me out again. I walked in to find Mother on the bed with a bundled blanket in her arms. She looked tired but happy. "Lea, come here and meet your sister Catherine." She said in a weary tone.

I walked over cautiously. A baby's face peeked out from the blankets, pink and plump. She was smiling up at me with complete innocence. I smiled back at my little sister. She was so little, and so cute.

The midwife had been blabbering on for a while. I hadn't really been listening, but suddenly I heard her say, "Your daughter's so smart, Madame Dupont. She found her way to my home all by herself."

Mother's eyes, which had been so full of joy, suddenly darkened. She turned to look at me. "It's not safe for a proper young girl like you to be out there alone. You mustn't do it again, you understand?" She asked stiffly.

I was puzzled by the disapproval in my mother's tone. But one thing that I understood above all was that she was wrong. I was strong.

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><p>I really don't like this chapter. I don't know a lot about little kids. I don't have any younger siblings and I've never babysat, so I'm not very familiar with them, which is why this chapter is probably horribly inacurate. I just wanted to show Lea learning to be strong and to get around on her own.<p> 


	3. Riches to Rags

Catherine soon went from smiling baby to crawling toddler. I looked after her when I could, but she didn't really need much looking after. She was a quiet kid that would generally do what you asked.

When I was nine and Catherine was four, our lives changed very suddenly. It began on a day in the middle of spring. I was in the drawing room, playing hide-and-seek with Catherine, when I heard the front door open. I held my breath, curious to see who it was but also determined not to let Catherine know where I was. _It's probably just Uncle Paul coming back from work,_I thought to myself. I stayed huddled behind the curtains and listened.

Uncle Paul's voice sounded in its usual pinched tone. "Allison, can you come here please?"

I heard footsteps coming from my mother's bedroom. "What is it, Paul?" Mother's voice held no trace of wariness. She'd always been too trusting.

Paul's voice sounded unusually pleased. "You already know that I've been meeting , daughter of the physician?"

Mother's voice seemed a bit disaproving. "Yes. How could I forget?"

Paul's next words came as a surprise. "I believe you will be pleased to hear that she has accepted my marriage proposal."

I wrinkled my nose. Who on earth would want to marry Uncle Paul? I tried to imagine him sweet-talking some pretty girl in his nasaly tone and surpressed the urge to laugh.

Mother's voice seemed equally surprised, but at least she was better at hiding it. "Well... that's wonderful news, Paul. I can't wait to meet her. When will the wedding be?" Her voice was filled with clipped, polite interest.

When Uncle Paul spoke again, his tone was unbearably smmug. "Actually, she was hoping to move in by the end of the week. I presume you can find new lodgings by then?"

I felt the impact of his words like a fist to the gut. Mother must have been equally shocked, for it took her several moments to reply. "I beg your pardon?"

Paul's voice resumed, so smug that I wanted to strangle him. "Well you see, wants to have the house just to ourselves, and how could I refuse her request? I'm sure you'll be fine without me."

Mother's voice was unbearably weak with shock. "You...you're taking the house?"

"Well my dear sister, the house already belongs to me. Your husband left it to me since he had no close male relatives. I'm simply leasing out the rooms to different tenants. You understand."

There was a long pause before Mother replied. Unable to bear the silence, I pulled back the curtain just enough so I could see what was happening. Mother was staring at Uncle Paul with eyes full of horror, her hand clutching her chest. Uncle Paul stood before her with an irritating smirk on his pudgey face. Mother lifted her head and looked up at her brother. "This is what you always wanted, isn't it?" She asked with tired anger. "Our house. Our wealth. And now you're marrying into a rich family and you get both." In an even quieter tone she added, "I wouldn't be surprised if you'd slept with the girl to force her into marriage."

Uncle Paul's smirk twisted into an ugly sneer. All the pleasentness had faded from his voice, to be replaced by an angry snarl. "It's no business of yours why the girl is marrying me. You've lost. I own the house, and I can throw you out if you want. If you refuse to leave I'll get the police on you!" He took a deep breath, then said in a more controlled tone, "But come now, be reasonable Allison. I'll send you money monthly, to keep you on your feet. After all, you're still my little sister. You and the girls can be together without me getting in the way. What do you say?" There was no sincerity in his tone. He was simply trying to beat Mother down before she tried to put up a fight. He dug into his pockets and pulled out a few sous. "Here, take this. I'll send more later."

I watched my mother's reaction carefully. _Fight back!_ I wanted to cry out. _Tell him we don't need his charity. Tell him you'd rather die than let him take the house! Do something!_Hatred for my uncle boiled in my veins. I wanted nothing more than to wipe the arrogant smirk off his face. But I was just a kid. It was all up to Mother.

But my pleas went unhear. Mother dipped her head submissively, taking the money weakly from Paul's hand. "Thank you, Paul." She said weakly.

I turned away, unable to watch any more. After a while they both left the room, but I stayed, trying to come to terms with what I'd heard. It wasn't until my sister pulled back the curtains that I even moved and inch. "Found you!" Catherine cried out gleefully, her plump face lit up in a smile.

I smiled back weakly. "Yep. You found me, Cathy."

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><p>Do you guys think that Uncle Paul's a jerk? Because Uncle Paul's a jerk. More to come later.<p>

Beauty and the Beast (c) Disney

Lea, Alisson, Catherine, Paul (c) Me


	4. New Life

We left two days later. Mother hardly spoke a word the whole time. Uncle Paul could be seen throughout the house those two days, gloating in gleeful silence. I glared at him every chance I got. This man had driven us from our home and didn't even appear to feel guilty. The fact that we shared blood would forever shame me.

Mother found us a small, affordable place near the outskirts of Paris. I think she wanted to be as far from Uncle Paul as possible.

When we got to the new place, I could hardly believe my eyes. We didn't have our own house anymore. Instead it was a simple room in a place full of rooms. We could faintly hear the voices of our fellow tenants as we passed by their rooms, a low, constant murmur.

When we reached our room, I couldn't help but gape at its puny size. Our new home was smaller then my old bedroom. There was a single bed and a table by a sink. There was an oven too, but that was the extent of our furniture. The walls were a drab gray and the floors were scuffed and unpolished. I wasn't sure, but I thought I might have seen the scaly tail of a mouse whisk past.

My mother seemed weak on her feet. She leaned against the door-frame, her hand clutching the wooden frame. "What have we come to?" She asked no one in particular.

I looked up at the weary sadness in her face and felt a faint pang of dislike. Why hadn't she tried to take the house back from Uncle Paul? Why hadn't she tried to be stronger? Maybe we would have been able to stay.

My anger faded when I saw the grief in Mother's eyes. iOf course,/i I realized, iShe's still mourning for Father, even after five years./i

I wasn't necessarily grieving over Father. I'd been so young when he'd died that I could hardly remember him. I missed the idea of a father, but I couldn't really grieve the man himself. I could only imagine the pain Mother must be feeling.

I reached out and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. "We'll be alright, Mother." I said with more confidence then I felt. "We'll make it."

Mother looked down at me for a moment with faint hope in her eyes, as though trying to judge whether my words were guess or prophecy. Then it faded away, and she let out a sigh. "Come on, let's get out stuff put away."

We unpacked the few things Uncle Paul had let us take, then found ourselves completely devoid of anything to do. There was nowhere to hide for hide-and-seek, no great canopy beds to pretend were castles for our dolls. Even Catherine seemed unusually subdued. She tugged at my sleeve, staring up at me with wide brown eyes. "Lea, can we go home?"

My heart ached at my sister's trusting tone. iPoor kid. She thinks Mom and I could fix anything. How could she possibly understand what's happening?/i

I tried to explain, already knowing that it would be in vain. "We are home, Cathy. This is home now."

Cathy's eyes began to well with tears. "No! I wanna go home!"

I let out a sigh. Like it or not, this was our life now. We had to accept that.

The next morning I was woken by the sounds of people talking. The walls between the other rooms and ours were relatively thin. I could hear a man's voice next door as he bid his wife farewell. For a brief moment, my heart ached for Father. Then I shook my head impatiently. That life was over now. Time to move on.

Mother and Catherine were still asleep. Catherine and I had shared the bed, while Mother had slept on the floor with a single blanket. I looked down sadly at her. Weak as she was, she was still my mother.

I got up, careful not to wake anyone, and began investigating our new home. There wasn't much to look at honestly. The room had little to no furniture, and our food cupboards were completely empty. I frowned thoughtfully. We wouldn't make it through the week if we didn't have food. If I knew Mother, she'd be stubborn and try to buy food that was far too expensive. We couldn't waste money on any of the rich, tasteful foods we used to eat. There was far too much at stake for that.

I knew what I had to do. If Mother couldn't shop responsibly, then I'd have to. It would be a good chance to get to know the ins and outs of this part of Paris.

With that decided, I snuck over to where Mother slept. I gingerly slipped my hand to the money she kept inside her sleeve, slipping it out with bated breath. But Mother didn't wake. She'd probably been up all night brooding over our fall from wealth.

I snuck out the door, making my way through the building until I reached the front door. The chilly winter air blew through my expensive blue dress. Warm clothes for the winter wouldn't be such a bad idea to get either, but I didn't know if we had enough for that. It was surprising, but now that I thought about it, I realized how impractical our lives had been up until now. We'd wasted so much on useless, expensive things and never appreciated any of it. How stupid people could be. How incredibly stupid.

I began to make my way through the streets. It quickly became apparent that this wasn't the Paris I was used to. The streets were dirtier, the people thinner and more modestly clothed, and the stores were smaller. But most alarming were the homeless. These people cluttered the streets, dressed in whatever rags they could find, their dark beady eyes glaring out at the people passing by. It was as if being alone so long had dehumanized them. I was both horrified and fascinated.

I managed to get a reasonable amount of food, leaving some money for Mother of course. I was carrying our food back home with a feeling of pride when a dark hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist. I was so startled, I dropped everything I was carrying. I turned to see a man with a soot-stained face and ragged clothing. He grinned at me, revealing a few missing teeth. "Well now, what's a pretty little thing like you doing out here?"

I felt a rush of fear, but tried to push it back. We were in an alleyway not too far from home, totally alone. Maybe if I broke loose I could run back home.

I tried to rip my hand away, but his grip was too strong. I tried to sound strong, but my voice wavered as I said, "Monsieur, let me go. I have to get home."

The man just grinned cruelly. "Mm, that dress looks expensive. Might be worth something. But I think-"

Almost out of nowhere, a small rock came whizzing towards the man, hitting him on the side of the head. He clutched his head and let out a howl of pain. I took the moment to rip loose of his grip and run for it. I didn't even bother to grab the food, I just got out of there as quickly as I could.

When I reached our new building, I paused. Was I going to let one man keep my family from eating? That was almost all the money we had, and I was just going to let it go to waste. I was terrified to say the least, but determined to help my family. I turned and started to go back, even though every fiber of my being screamed out against it.

When I got there, the man was gone. The bag I'd been carrying the food in was on the ground, with a young boy crouching over it. He was just a little younger than me, with a dirt-smudged, elf-like face, unruly brown hair, and ragged clothing. When I approached, he looked up in surprise, his hazel eyes widening. He started to run off with the food bag in hand.

I called out loudly, "Stop!" I didn't bother to see if he obeyed before hiking up my skirt and running after him. However, he was far faster then me and soon left me behind. I kept running though, even after I'd lost sight of him among the twisted alleyways. I couldn't let that food get taken.

After a while, I was beginning to lose speed, but I kept going. Suddenly I stumbled, falling forward onto the ground. I let out a gasp of pain as my unprotected legs and arms were scraped on the stoney ground. But I wasn't going to let that stop me. I stubbornly go to my feet, and was about to start off again when a voice said, "I've never seen someone run for so long."

I turned to see the boy I'd been chasing standing behind me, food bag in hand. His hazel eyes were full of arrogance and mischief, along with a hint of admiration. "I'm Ivo. What's you're name, girly?"

I raised an eyebrow. "iGirly/i? I'm older than you!"

Ivo chuckled. "Yeah, but that frilly dress you're wearning's about the girliest thing I've seen." He looked at me as though trying to judge how I would react. "So, how 'bout it? You do have a name, don'cha?"

I waited a long moment, glaring at him. Then I stuck out my chin defiantly. "Lea."

The boy seemed amused by my attitude. "Lea? Good name, I guess. For a rich little mam'selle anyway." I just kept glaring at him. He broke out into a grin. "Alright, here." He tossed me the bag of food. I caught it, then turned to look at him warily. "I've never met someone so stubborn." He turned and began to walk away.

I hesitated for a moment, then reached into the bag and grabbed a loaf of bread. "Hey Ivo!" He turned around. I tossed the loaf to him, and he caught it with a look of pleasant surprise. He looked at me for a moment before giving me a crooked grin. "You ain't half bad, girly." Then he walked off until he disapeared into the darkness of the alley.

That was the beginning of my life in the poor parts of Paris.

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><p>There'll be another time skip after this, because I am horrible at writing in the POV of young children. I just never know how mature to make them. Anyway, we'll defenitly be seeing more of Ivo. No, he's not Belle's father, Belle's father is named Maurice.<p> 


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